The Batman-Issue Two: Rise of the Joker
by RabidDog008
Summary: Issue two of fan story The Batman, featuring new interpretations of classic characters. Be sure to read issue one first. A new villain called the Joker makes his arrival known in a bloody rampage, while Batman tries to start an alliance. Barbara Gordon begins her own crime fighting plans.


The Driver had made his way deep into the main warehouse at ACE chemicals. Gunning down four track suit wearing mercenaries, he looked over their bodies and found a duffel bag filled with drugs and money. He zipped the bag back up, lifted it and threw it over his shoulder. As he checked his gun, the room descended into darkness. He spun around, teeth gritted, to see a large black shadow descend from the rafters…

His finger slipped on the trigger before taking two shots at the black creature swooping down at him. The Driver tripped over the bodies, the bag slipped from his shoulder as he pulled himself up and ran through the darkness, his black loafers loudly slapping the mesh catwalk. He took a right turn at a fork and found himself at a dead end, the walkway overlooking the flowing chemical stream thirty feet below. The Driver spun back around as the creature landed in front of him. Its claws grasped the hand rails and blocked his escape. Its white eyes glowed almost blindingly bright in the dark.

The Driver saw no other option; he'd have to take his chances in the toxic river below. Either that or a death at his own hands was a last satisfaction, that no one else would feel the pleasure of his demise for all the destruction he had caused. He grinned, leaned back on the railing and toppled over the edge.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

Nearly a month had passed since the assault on ACE Chemicals, but it was still making the news. The Mafiosi were all dead and all but two of the bikies escaped, taking the cash and drugs with them. The reason why it was still in the headlines was due to the appearance of a giant bat who had assisted the authorities gain control of the plant, though this fact was only discovered after as the guards opened fire on the winged creature before it flew away, seemingly unhurt.

Once this news was made public more reports began appearing of the mysterious Batman. Some dated back weeks before by those who believed at the time they'd been suffering from a delusion. More and more stories came in, some real and most false, and the media began to ask the question; who or what was this Batman?

Tommy Forelli didn't like it. While he kept his cool in front of people, when the door to his office was shut he became a nervous wreck, at times literally tearing his hair out from the stress of trying to appear at least half competent at leading the family's operations. In fact he probably was; he was the only family leader without a criminal conviction and the one to have the least amount of police attention, which was only there in the first place due to the public connections he had to the other crime families. But now two of his best men had been killed at ACE, along with the Goterelli's best and brightest, which he had been given control of.

But Tommy had been surprisingly calm since the assault, though many times he had to bite his tongue when people around him began speculating about it, telling them simply to "shut the hell up". But with each passing day of silence from the other crime families his stomach twisted further, and his fear grew like a looming shadow.

He operated the business out of a bistro in Gotham's south. The restaurant sat on a street corner in one of the inner city's hilliest neighbourhoods, wedged under the elevated train tracks and looking out over the southern island. Its drive and parking space was elevated a good three meters above the street below at its highest point. Up two flights of concrete stairs to an open alfresco area, the inside consisting of the restaurant, through to the kitchen and out to a long corridor where his office sat. Its walls and carpet where coloured a deep red, with dark wood furnishings and a hidden door leading down to a small armoury, which then lead further down to the garage out back just beneath the loading dock. Only a handful of people knew about it; Tommy, Salvatore Maroni from the Falcone Crime family and six different enforcers, three of whom were now dead.

On the 27th day since the ACE incident, a green sedan pulled up outside Tommy's bistro. A tall man in a long brown trench coat and fedora stepped out and tried to push through the two security guards standing at the bottom of the stairs. "We're gonna need to see some ID bud." The tallest growled.

Tommy took a sip of bourbon from the bottle as there was a knock on his office door. "Enter." He called out.

A Mafioso walked through, "We've managed to track down the bikers that took off with the cash. Do you want me to call the Slav?"

"That only took two weeks," Tommy coughed, scratching above his ear and sweeping his slicked black hair back into place, "Yeah, give him a call and send him after them. Tell him to deliver the case to Vinnie in West Hook."

The Mafioso took out his phone and dialled as he turned and shut the door again. A few minutes later, Tommy heard a faint scream coming from the restaurant followed by a crash. "Jesus, they just dropped a plate, luv." He mumbled as he took another sip of bourbon. A minute later he went for his third, but paused when he heard hurried footsteps. Suddenly the door to his office flew open, the Mafioso from before bursting back into the room with blood pouring from a fresh gash on his head.

Tommy leapt to his feet, "What the hell happened?!" He demanded angrily. Before the Mafioso could answer a shadow rose up on the wall behind him, an unrecognisable object clutched in its hands. The shadow raised what it held high in the air and just as the Mafioso spun around to confront him he slammed it down on his face. There was a muffled shout and the Mafioso collapsed in a heap; dirt, leaves and fragments of terracotta pot mixing with blood and spilling over his body like water. "Jesus Christ!" Tommy yelped, pulling open the hidden draw of his desk and reaching for the pistol inside.

"Not quite." Answered the man in the shadows. He brushed his hands of the dirt and stepped forward to spread his arms like the Saviour in Rio, "Behold! Your nightmare is here!"

"Who the hell are you?" Tommy demanded, forcing his voice to remain steady. Not waiting for an answer, his finger tugged on the trigger but the gun just clicked pitifully; it was empty.

The man stepped over the threshold and the body, and finally into the light, "Take a look for yourself." he grinned. White skin, wild green hair and blood red lips. He ran his tongue over his yellow stained teeth before kicking the body out of the way and closing the door. "Now, he was number twenty two, which makes you… twenty three."

"Twenty three what?" spluttered Tommy.

"The twenty third person I've killed since walking through the front doors to your fine establishment just over two minutes ago," he pulled his gloves off revealing similarly white skinned hands with yellow finger nails, "well, I mean, twenty third person I will kill, when I do. But first, Tommy, I want something from you."

"What do you want?" Tommy asked, his fear starting to show.

"Your boots, your clothes, your motorcycle..." the man said in a stern, deep voice. He cracked and laughed, "I want nothing but your guns. I lost all of mine but one, and I had to empty its contents into your boys out front. And while I did _fantastically_ just now with improvised weapons, I'd prefer something with a little more…" he mouthed "boom" and made the gesture with his hands. When Tommy didn't move, the man marched towards him and reached behind a lamp on his desk; pressing a long finger to the secret button there. The bookcase on the wall to their right swung inwards and revealed the small, dark passageway and spiral staircase leading down. The man skipped over to the passageway and stood at its entrance, taking a deep breath in.

"How did you know about that?" Tommy asked, bewildered.

The man turned to face Tommy, a frown on his face with his mouth turned downwards. "You don't remember me?" He suddenly burst out laughing, "Oh well! No great loss! Although, just to make sure you don't figure it out…" He pulled a gun from inside his coat and fired. Tommy dropped to his knees and clutched at his wound. His vision began to blacken and blur, and he looked around to see the man standing over him like a great pale beast. He bent low over him, his face now merely inches from Tommy's, "You can just call me _Joker_." He whispered as Tommy swayed and collapsed, and his eyes fluttered shut.

The Joker ran down the stairs to the armoury. He giggled at the sight of all the weapons; a vast collection of different pistols, rifles and shotguns, and all the way up to heavier weaponry like rocket launchers and crates of grenades. He opened the door to the garage, sticking his head out to see if the coast was clear and what kind of vehicles were parked there. He was in luck; a grey van was parked closest to the door, its driver's side door open and the keys in the ignition. Joker opened the motorised garage roller door, removed a cloth bag from his pocket and began throwing guns into it. When full he stood up straight and adjusted his suit, throwing his trench coat to the corner of the room and pulling a phone from the inside pocket of his blazer. He dialled the only number in the contacts and detonated the car he arrived in. The phone, having fulfilled its use, was tossed to the floor, and Joker slung the bag over his shoulder as the ceiling violently shook. He pulled the pin from a grenade and threw it over his shoulder into a crate before quickly exiting the room and shutting the door behind him. Running to the van he leapt in it and tore out of the garage as the crate exploded and the restaurant collapsed into the hidden basement.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

Barbara Gordon had become obsessed with the first newspaper article on the Batman. She read it several times over before cutting it out and sticking it on the wall of her room at the Gordon's house in the suburbs. She did so for every article that followed in the coming weeks, along with every internet picture and notebook scribble she made. She had no idea why this obsession began; who knows why any obsession begins? _Maybe, _she thought, _it's because someone's actually…hmm…doing something? _But that wasn't quite right, or was it? At least they weren't adding to all the bad stuff that Gotham was plagued by.

Not that Barbara had seen much of it. The closest thing to an encounter with Gotham's criminal life, other than the stories told by her father, had been a classmate at university who was mugged at the front door of a fast food restaurant as they tried to enter to buy a burger.

But this 'Batman' had given birth to all these ideas in her head. For years she had wanted to become a police officer, but her parents hadn't allowed it. They did however let her take up criminology studies on top of her gymnastics, though she wasn't sure if it was just to keep her happy or to fill her with false hope. If they wouldn't let her join the police, joining the Batman was the only way she could see to help fight crime.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

That night the Gordon's went out for dinner in the city. Jim felt the need to treat his family what with the little time he had spent with them recently, so he took them to a fancy restaurant in the north. They chatted and ate and everything was going smoothly, and just as they were waiting for their dessert to be delivered they were approached by a familiar face…

"Lieutenant Jim Gordon!" Bruce Wayne cried as he stood from his table, spotting the family across the restaurant. He grabbed the hand of his date, a pale skinned woman with unusually attractive facial features, who wore a black gown that matched Bruce's tux. As he and his date got closer, Gordon realised that the tuxedo Bruce wore was completely different to the one he had been wearing when they met a few weeks before. Billionaire Bruce Wayne certainly had enough money to buy as many tuxedoes as he desired.

"Bruce Wayne." Gordon stood to shake his hand. He noticed Barbara's eye's bulge slightly at the mention of his name and she began studying him with awe-filled eyes. "Uh, this is my wife and daughter-"

"Jeanette." she stood. Bruce kissed her hand as she offered it and the corners of Gordon's mouth tightened downwards. Barbara stood too and the same exchange was made.

"Well, you both look lovely," Bruce smiled, and turned back to Gordon, "Shall I kiss your hand too? Missing out on the action here," Barbara snorted as she sipped through her drink. Bruce turned back to his date, "And I'm leaving you out here too!"

"Don't worry, you'll have your chance to kiss me all over later." she smiled seductively. Gordon wished he had longer facial hair to better cover the scowl he was fighting his mouth not to contort into.

"This is Elise," Bruce introduced her, and wrapped his hand around her waist. He turned back to Gordon, "A family outing? I hope I'm not intruding…too much."

"No, not too much," Jim replied, "And you're here on another date?"

"Sort of. I was having dinner with the mayor and police commissioner on how to make the world a better place. Well, this city at the very least." Gordon nodded and Bruce quickly checked his watch, "Unfortunately we'd best be off now. Although, before I leave I'll pay for your meal, or reimburse you if you already have-"

"Oh no no no, you don't have to." Gordon interjected.

"No, I insist." Bruce smiled and removed his wallet.

Gordon sighed, "Well, okay, if that's the case."

Bruce bade them farewell and left with his date, the Gordon's leaving a short while later, having enjoyed their free meal and talking over the "celebrity" encounter.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

The night after as Gordon got ready to leave work for the night, he went back into his office to fetch his coat. As he opened the door he noticed papers from his desk blown onto the floor by the evening breeze coming in through the open window. _Strange, _he thought as he went to shut it, turning to see a note written in blue paper impaled on the receipt spike Gordon kept next to his computer.

_Meet me on the rooftop,_ it read. _Alert no one._

He studied the paper a few seconds before taking his coat off the back of his chair and leaving his office. "Sarah," he called out to his work partner, her blonde hair swayed with her movement as she walked over to him, "Do you know anything about this?"

"Not at all," she read what the note said, "where was it?"

"It was on my desk, my window was open," he said, "I'll have a quick look."

"Maybe it's a secret admirer, or that Batman." She joked.

"Him or Santa Claus." Gordon chuckled as he walked the stairwell.

It was a chilly night and a cold draught made its way across the GCPD roof. Gordon buttoned up his coat. "Hello?" he called. He couldn't see anyone.

"I don't want to alarm you Jim," said a deep, rumbling voice that seemed to come from the dark itself, "I'm coming out now." Gordon spun on his heel and his mouth dropped open as the Batman walked out from behind an air conditioner vent.

"My daughter's quite a fan of you," Gordon managed to say, "This isn't some prank is it?"

"Let it be known Lieutenant that I'm very real." Batman replied.

"Why did you get me up here?" asked Gordon.

Batman turned to look over the city, "You seem to be an honest cop. There are a few, but not many. And you're the highest ranking of the lot, which says something about this place," Batman faced him, "I need your help."

Gordon nodded, "What with?"

"To help this city. It's fallen low, the streets riddled with crime, many officials turn a blind eye, corporate greed is rampant and the police can do nothing," Batman walked forward and withdrew a steel book folder from beneath his cape, "I have information I'm willing to share with those who can help, in return I need police files to-"

"Absolutely not." Gordon interrupted.

Batman paused. "That's understood. I'll give you this when needed." He tucked the folder away.

"You're a vigilante. What you've done, I'm sure it can be appreciated, but it's illegal what you're doing, and I can't be a part of-" Gordon was cut short when the door behind him opened. He looked back to see Sarah walk through, her tea cup nearly dropped from her hands as she saw Batman, who shot to the side of the building and leapt off. Gordon rushed forward and looked over the edge but nothing was to be seen but the dark alleyway below.

Sarah joined him, squinting as she tried in vain to make out where Batman had gone. "I take it that wasn't Santa." she whispered.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

Barbara admired her outfit in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Wearing a dark grey leotard, she ran her hands up her thighs, hips and to her middle before she heard her father arrive home downstairs. She hurriedly looked around her room and pulled on a pair of jeans, a top and jacket before rushing down to greet him. "How was your day?" she asked as she kissed him on the cheek.

"It was a day," he said as he placed his coat on the hook by the front door. She followed Jim through the lounge to the kitchen where her mum sat at the table on her laptop. They kissed hello, "What's for dinner? It smells lovely." Gordon asked.

"An Italian and Mexican crossover spaghetti slash nacho thing," she stood to give the frypan on the cook top a stir, "Using all the materials we have before shopping tomorrow."

"I just gotta do some things before dinner." Barbara said. Her parents nodded and she headed out of the kitchen and back up to her room. She shut the door behind her and pulled the tie out from her ginger hair before catching her reflection again. Smiling slightly she removed the jacket and top before dropping her pants, her smile cracking into an excited grin as she revealed the leotard, a black bat symbol boldly drawn across its chest.

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

The Joker looked over the collection of flasked chemicals he had placed on the desk before him. He grinned manically as he imagined all the different concoctions he could brew and what they would do to the human body once exposed to them. Physical torture like bubbling flesh and malting hair, to psychological like the apparitions of winged beasts and growling voices in the back of the head which caused people to turn on their friends.

One thing that stuck out in his mind was a drug that tightened the victims face into a ghastly grin upon their death. He did love to see people die with the pull of a trigger or a blade plunging into them, but to scar a person and their body in his image was something he knew would come to be feared. His attempts had so far been unsuccessful; his test subjects had either not died and had relaxed faces afterwards, or tightened elsewhere post death.

"I need a chemist," he declared to the empty room as he swept three of the nearest beakers to the ground with an ark of his arm, "Someone with a greater knowledge than I to come up with a formula for me! A Mister White to my Jesse Pinkman!" He laughed and skipped around the small apartment he was based out of, coming to a stop before beginning to pace back and forth across the room. "But who could possibly want to work with me? I need someone with the same demented mindset as I. Not that that is possible. Someone to create the chemical and actually want it to work."

A muffled groan came from the cupboard under the kitchen sink. The Joker glanced over it before throwing it open. He kneeled down to look over the bound and gagged Mafioso he had crammed in there hours before. "I don't suppose you know a chemist, who could help me create a biological weapon to scar victims in death with a hideous grin, do you?" the Joker asked. The Mafioso tried yelling something, but it only came out as a supressed cry. "Well shut up then!" Joker shouted as he slammed the cupboard shut.


End file.
